


the 1

by ThatOneGaySlytherin



Series: folklore [1]
Category: Love Victor (TV 2020)
Genre: M/M, Moving On, Post-Break Up, Reflection, Regret, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneGaySlytherin/pseuds/ThatOneGaySlytherin
Summary: "Persist and resist the temptation to ask you: if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?"~~~After a bold new adherence, what happens to the obsolete, discarded pieces, left to flutter to the cracked pavement?(Mia, Derek, and Benji each process the emotional aftermath of Spring Fling.)
Relationships: Benjamin "Benji" Campbell/Victor Salazar, Past Benjamin "Benji" Campbell/Derek (Love Victor), Past Mia Brooks/Victor Salazar
Series: folklore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855849
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	the 1

_"Persist and resist the temptation to ask you: if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?"_

* * *

“Victor?” she calls. No response, so again, “Victor?”

The boy turns around and Mia immediately regrets her choice; it’s not even _him_.

“Oh, sorry,” she says and takes a step away with a nervous chuckle. The boy just shrugs and turns around, a nasty scowl on his face.

Mia hikes up her bag on her shoulder and sighs. This is what happens when the bus is late, she starts to get antsy, which leads to mild humiliation in front of strangers. The moment sits in her throat, sediment clogging her windpipe. What would she have even said if it was him? _“Hi, Victor. Remember when you ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it?”_ That brand of conversation never goes well in the movies. The righteously angry party just walks away with reopened wounds, now shredded along the edges, while the perpetrator gets to move on with their day.

She’s been watching a lot of movies recently. Alone time has been in abundance, mostly because that’s what she’s chosen for herself. The humiliation is too much to bear; even Lake has only been on the fringe of her attention. Since she started openly dating Felix, she’s become a different person. A better one. And Mia isn’t sure she has it in her to stand next to her, the broken girl limping along, shards of an old self clattering to the ground with each step.

In fact, right now, she’s on her way to see a movie. It’s a Sunday afternoon and her dad and Veronica are out of town. They have the car, hence the bus trip. But this movie is still only in theaters, and Mia’s been dying to see it. An artsy horror piece about a girl tasked with destroying her own persistent demon, a representation of guilt over infidelity.

So maybe she just wants to get in Victor’s head. Is there a beast dogging him after his series of animal choices? Has he tamed it? Or maybe it wasn’t a fiend at all, but a sneering, whinging cherub. Maybe for Victor, there’s nothing to fight at all.

But for Mia, the sky might as well be falling. In retrospect, she wonders if it had been obvious all along. If she was operating on false hope and delusion. Though caring, Victor was hesitant. She chalked it up to a personality default at first, a caution that could stem from past hurt, some old wound he never revealed. She hoped with time he might come to show it to her, if only so she could press her lips to it and assuage the tender skin.

She’s doing it again. The damn thing she can’t stop herself from doing. Her fingers twitch against her phone and she’s overcome with a self-destructive urge to dial his number and ask him the question that she’s been wondering since it happened. Because they haven’t spoken since, and she feels like the world is digesting her as she treks out for an answer.

Not that it would matter. She doesn’t even know which answer—if any—would do anything to still the emotional vertigo.

Mia sighs and turns her phone off, all the way off. No distractions, no temptations. To reach out would be to paint a target on the cocoon, allow some predator to swoop in and consume her mid-metamorphosis.

With a grating squeal, the bus finally pulls up to the stop. Mia looks at her watch. Shit. She’s going to miss the previews. In some ways, they’re even better than an entire film. The best parts, chopped up and organized to make you fall in love, enough so that you’d put yourself through something a hundred times as arduous in the hopes that the payoff will be as exponential.

 _If only life was like that_ , she thinks as she climbs the stairs and finds a small seat toward the front. Their preview had seemed so hopeful, but it was from a movie that never came to be.

Across the aisle, a young couple is attached at the mouth. Mia pointedly turns to look out her window, pulling the band out of her hair to tie it tighter. She likes the tug at her scalp, the mild sting that drags all of her most spectral thoughts right from her skull.

For instance, as the bus driver closes the door and the vehicle rumbles back into motion, Mia pictures Victor next to her, silently making fun of the gross PDA. His hand on hers, that stupid smile, that fucking smile. Their ascent and crest had been a beautiful one, but she’s never quite worked out how to stick the landing.

* * *

Birthdays fucking suck.

Almost as much as dating a high school guy. Only a close second, but a second regardless.

Derek kicks a stone and stuffs his hands into his pockets. Nineteen feels like nothing, it feels like hitting a wall. Not even hard enough to hurt. It’s just a block.

But this park has always been a place where he can come and work through his shit. This usually results in Derek scribbling angsty lyrics into a worn little notebook—most of these get scrapped, or reworked beyond the point of recognition.

There’s the fountain. Afternoon sunlight pirouettes off the water’s surface, minuscule supernovas. Maybe he’s sabotaging his mental state by coming here, because all he can think about is his hand in Benji’s, the cold chill of early winter. Back when they still made sense.

And Benji had dragged him to the fountains edge, had dipped raw, red fingers into the frozen water to scrape coins along the fountain’s craggy bottom.

“Why are you doing that?” Derek can hear his own voice, so condescending. Why did he ever talk to him like that? When all Benji ever did was try, and give, and love?

Benji had just shrugged and pulled a coin out of his own pocket. “I wanted to make sure there would be room for ours.”

“It’s a fountain, Benji. It’s not going to run out of room for coins.”

Ignoring him, Benji had closed his eyes and held a penny above the trickle. “When it comes to wishes as important as this one, you can never be too careful.”

Derek rolled his eyes as Benji took a deep breath and released the copper round. It plunked into the water and a smile crossed Benji’s face. And maybe that’s what made it all worth the aggravation.

“Now you,” Benji said, digging through his pockets to find another coin.

“This is stupid,” Derek said, but Benji shoved the coin into his hand regardless.

“You don’t even have to supply your own coin. Come on, there has to be _something_ you want badly enough that even you would make a wish on it,” Benji teased, a brief press of warmth against Derek’s cheek from rosy lips.

Derek sighed. Of course there was. He wished Benji would grow up, grow out of this stupid high school stuff that drove Derek crazy. Benji was talented, and thoughtful, and attractive, but Derek never did understand why he clung so tight to his romantic streak.

“Fine.” He pressed his eyes closed as an icy gale blew by. With a flick of his thumb, the coin spun gracefully into the water.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Benji said, taking his hand and continuing their walk.

The weather is warmer now, but Derek shivers as he looks down at the collection of coins. Their own wishes are still there somewhere, maybe smothered by those who actually deserved them. Or maybe they clear the fountain every so often, take the coins, put all of those empty wishes to good use. He’s never been able to shake his curiosity; what had Benji wished for? Was it him?

With a sigh, he rakes his hand across the water and splashes some of it onto the grass. Stupid. And of course this _child_ had to come in and make Benji question everything. He’d only validated Benji’s idealism, his stubborn fascination with constructs that they never had to follow in the first place.

It’s only been a few weeks, but Derek nearly obsesses over the idea of Benji’s new life. He’s moved on, no doubt. All of that virtue bursting from him, all the talk of _“This hasn’t been working for a long time now.”_ He’s probably lying about his age on Tinder and meeting boys willing to indulge his stupidity.

Or even worse, he’s with that Victor kid. Derek thinks that would hurt the most.

He cracks his neck and looks at the sky, cursing himself for coming here, for showing Benji his spot in the first place. A tombstone sits on his chest, but he’s excavated it up from the ground himself. With a roll of his shoulders and a great effort, he shoves it off and keeps walking. He has a ruined surprise party to attend.

* * *

The sound of their distance is a whip crack.

Benji is sprawled out on the floor, watercolor palette glistening beside him. Victor is up on Benji’s bed, _The Awakening_ in one hand and his laptop keyboard beneath the other. They’ve all too quickly settled into this kind of routine; school, work, Benji’s house for homework. Since coming out Victor feels safer here. Benji’s met his family. He understands.

This slow Sunday afternoon something pokes at the underside of Benji’s ribs with fervor, though. A nagging thought that’s followed him since Spring Fling, since they kissed on that bench.

Has he made the right choice?

Victor is incredible. There’s no denying that. And Benji has never felt more like the version of himself he wants to be than when Victor is beside him. But things have progressed in such a breakneck fashion that Benji is left with the oxygen sucked from his lungs, concrete questions pouring in to fill the cavern.

A year is a long time to give to somebody, at least relative to the amount of years he has. One seventeenth, 5.88235294118 percent. Benji’s done the math. In fact, he’s made minimal progress on this painting because he had been trying to do the calculation in his head; eventually he just gave in and decided to use the calculator on his phone instead.

From the bed, Victor sighs and flips a couple of pages. This analytical paper is killing him, Benji knows. In some ways, he’s grateful that Victor is distracted. Benji appreciates his presence, but he’s sort of occupied by the crossed blades of his own thoughts at the moment.

And he can’t stop thinking about Derek. It makes him nervous, swampy water bubbling up in his stomach every time. But it’s not as if he wants him back, wants to trade Victor for a familiar model.

But the problem is this: Benji wonders if Derek might take him back if he asked.

It’s not a train of thought he particularly likes, but his balance has been so off since his life caught a novel current and yanked him a direction he wasn’t expecting. And that’s the truth of it. Things with Derek weren’t good, but he misses the familiarity, the way he’d already cracked himself open to reveal his most vile organs, the pale, wriggling things living inside him. Their relationship was never typical, but is it ever for musicians? For young gay men? The age gap certainly made things difficult, not to mention Derek’s refusal to act like he actually wanted to be in the relationship.

Derek had explained it to Benji once: _“I know how I feel about you, and you know it, too. We don’t have to constantly spout off about how much we like each other.”_

And yet, Derek had taken every opportunity to make public claims that Benji belonged to him. Whenever Benji conversed with other guys after shows, whenever he so much as said hello and thanks for coming, Derek was sure to stop by and give him an inappropriately passionate kiss. Always an arm around Benji’s shoulder, his waist, leashing him.

Benji didn’t want to be wanted, not if that’s how Derek was going to show it.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Benji crashes out of his reverie, almost spilling his cup of water in the process. “Yeah, why?” Victor looks at him from up on the bed, curious concern spread smooth on his features.

“You just look upset.”

“Oh,” Benji says, not aware the inner turmoil had invaded his visage. “It’s this painting,” he half-lies. “The inspiration just isn’t coming today.”

Victor nods and sets his book down, then slides off the bed. He gets down on his knees and bends to kiss Benji, fast and sweet. “Does that help at all?”

“Hmm, a little bit. Maybe one more?”

Another kiss, slightly longer. “How about now?”

Benji nods and Victor’s lips stretch into a giddy smile; something bright and gold extends its wingspan in Benji’s chest. “Much better.”

“Sometimes the muse comes in weird forms,” Victor says as he returns to the bed.

“Definitely.”

And with every kiss like that, every brown-eyed expedition to Benji’s core, he realizes that he’s already shattering open again, this new shell weak from the start. Even if busting himself out was the arduous process it had been with Derek, he decides in this moment that it would be worth it. Even if Victor’s progress is glacial, corrupt whispers in his head every day. Muffled glances in the hallways at school, lying to his parents, taking a step away from Benji behind the counter when he realizes he could just reach out and take his hand, bring it to his lips.

Something like peace, like terror settles over Benji and he looks back to his painting. Turns it to the side. Realizes he’s been looking at it all wrong. Or maybe, sometimes the right way becomes wrong if you do it long enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was curious yes I did listen to "the 1" on repeat for two hours while I wrote and edited this and no I am not stable emotionally or mentally!!
> 
> [Come follow me on Tumblr! :D](https://that0negayslytherin.tumblr.com/)


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